


Manpain

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7386961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff is dyiiiiiiing (no, really, he IS).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manpain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bethany for the swift and speedy beta!

This was the worst thing to happen to anyone in the entire history of recorded time.

"I'b dyig!"

The outburst was enough to finish him off, and Jeff collapsed dramatically onto one of the couches, using his long-limbed, 6'4", 200-pound frame to full effect. He flung an arm across his face to block out the sickly glare of the fluorescent lights, and awaited the comforting embrace of Death.

"Did he say he's dying?" asked Pierce, not sounding overly concerned.

"Ugh!" said Britta, as if Jeff's imminent demise was a personal affront. "Men! One little cold, and suddenly it's life and death. You didn't see me acting like a big baby when I got sick last week, did you? No, I sucked it up, took a ton of echinacea and zinc, and came to class doped up to the gills on Sudafed and Theraflu!"

"Ad that's why I'b sick now, goddabit," grumbled Jeff, too tired to yell.

Something was thumping him on the chest. He opened his eyes, and saw that Abed had reached out, still seated, apparently to prod Jeff with the end of one of Pierce's crutches. "I'm patting you comfortingly," explained Abed.

Jeff shoved the rubber foot away with the last of his waning strength.

Abed, unfazed, turned to Troy. "Should we set up a quarantine? I think we have still have some plastic sheeting from the hot-dog experiment."

"Ooh! We could get the KFC astronaut suits and—"

"No!" Jeff raised his head and gave them a gimlet glare. It was too much to maintain, though, and he dropped his head back to the couch with a groan. "God. Just led be die in peace. Tell theb I hold Bridda accoudable." Britta huffed. "No, tell theb Greendale killed be at last."

"Poor Jeff." Annie's was the only sympathetic voice he'd heard so far. However, it was notably not accompanied by soothing hands on his brow, or offers of blankets and hot tea (or—for preference—his personal remedy of whiskey, lemon juice, honey, and hot water). When he cracked open his eyes, she gave him a soft smile from a safe distance, and then turned a page in her book. "So, anyway, Neolithic farming practices?"

He moaned pitifully, but no one made a move in his direction. "No wod cares," he concluded, tragically. "I could just waste away ad die here, ad all I'd ged is 'oh Jeff, have you lost weight?'"

"Oh Jeff, quit your whining," said Shirley. "Take a nap, and one of us will give you a lift home when we're done."

When he managed to lever open his increasingly heavy eyelids, they'd all gone back to studying. There was silence, and Jeff gave up, too tired to come up with a Winger speech that would make them all see just how badly they were treating him, and how much they'd regret their callous attitudes when he was dead and gone. The quiet was actually pretty nice, and he was just drifting off to sleep when the gentle strum of a guitar disturbed his rest, and then the low, unmistakeable tones of Johnny Cash.

_Oh bury me nooooooot... on the lone praireeeeee..._

Jeff opened his eyes, too tired to lift his head.

_These words came lowwwww... and mournfullyyyyyy..._

"Is this—"

"My death playlist," said Abed.

_From the pallid liiiiiips... of a youth who lay... on his dying beeeeeeeeeeed.... at the close of dayyyyyy..._

Jeff nodded to himself, not even mildly surprised. When he stirred slightly, he realized that he must have been more out of it than he thought, because at some point, someone had draped his jacket over his chest. He wrapped his fingers in the folds of comfortingly expensive fabric, and sighed. "There bedder be _The Wreck of the Edmud Fizzgerald_ od there," he muttered. He turned his face into the cushions, and fell back to sleep.


End file.
